


Bargain Sale

by Nana_41175



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: FYJFF contest entry, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Lots of Groping, M/M, Oral Sex, Red Pants, Romance, Unresolved Sexual Tension, bargain sales, reapersun, tesco
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-09
Updated: 2012-09-09
Packaged: 2017-11-13 21:22:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/507845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nana_41175/pseuds/Nana_41175
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the "Red Pants Contest" at FYJFF. John gets himself a pair of red pants at a bargain sale, and Sherlock discovers them in the washer. Sparks fly. Please R&R!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bargain Sale

**Author's Notes:** Hello! This is written for the "Red Pants Contest"— the fic challenge for September 2012 at FYJFF, and I've always been a fan of Reapersun's "Red Pants Monday."

September 2013-- wow, this fic is now a year old! I just refreshed it a bit and added some stuff.  Just a heads-up: it’s unbeta-ed and unBrit-picked, plus the rating has been changed to explicit (I was still a bashful creature when I first wrote this a year ago—well, not anymore!!! Mwahahaha!!!).

More author's notes can be found at the end. Reviews are welcome as always.

~~~~~@~~~~~

If anyone were cheeky enough to ask him where he got the thing, John's answer would be at a bargain sale at Tesco— which would be nothing less than the truth. Where else would he be shopping for pants that had a buy-three-get-one-free deal?

And no, he had absolutely nothing to do with the choice of the color of the free underwear. In fact, after the initial frown and the pursing of lips that the item had managed to elicit from him, he had even gone so far as to ask a store attendant whether the unfortunate color could be replaced by something less jarring. The bloke had merely given him a dry look that said it all: That's _the reason why we're having a bargain sale in the first place, mate._

And it was true. Every selection, boxed in transparent plastic, had a pair of red pants that was the plus-one. The freebie. The other colors were randomly varied: white, grey, black, brown, blue. The only thing that remained constant in all the plastic boxes was the red.

But hey, a bargain was a bargain, and John liked the brand. He had never been the adventurous type to sample different brands all over, nor did he think it was worth his time. This one had been his mother's pick for his dad (yeah, his dad was one of those mortals who couldn't be bothered to do his underwear shopping himself), and this was the brand that he had grown up with (as he had allowed his mum to do his clothes shopping until it got to the point of being embarrassing, and by then her choices had stuck), so there was hardly any point in giving the matter more thought than was necessary. And no fancy prints, either. John was very much into solid colors.

So in the end, he had picked a box that was his size the way he would pick a head of lettuce in the vegetable section of the supermarket and, after concluding his transaction in the men's wear section, proceeded downstairs to buy some milk.

Like most men, John had waited until he had absolutely no choice but to shop for new pants (his last shopping foray into this area of clothing had been at least a couple of years ago, and he would have carried on wearing his comfortable, old sets of pants had he not discovered _holes_ in them one morning as he took them out of the washer). Of course, he had some boxers at home, but boxers were boxers— great for sleeping in but never the right choice to wear inside jeans or trousers. He liked the snug feel of pants best because their hold and support over the crucial areas were just right.

Upon returning home, he put the milk into the refrigerator and got his laundry started. Opening the plastic box with the four new, neatly rolled pants inside, he looked at the red ones once again and sighed. There really wasn't anything wrong with wearing red pants…if you were a man under the age of twenty-five. Or perhaps twenty. But to be caught wearing pants the shade of such a vibrant, unabashed red as the pair that John held before him when one was over thirty-five years old was an open invitation to endless rounds of psychoanalysis with one's shrink.

John sighed again in resignation. Well, it was not as if anyone would be interested in seeing what kind of underwear he had on beneath his trousers. It had been an eternity since the last time he was out on a date where anything resembling the removal of a stitch of clothing had taken place, and no prospect of that was remotely within sight just now.

Tossing the new pants into the washing machine along with the rest of his clothes, John gave the matter no more thought as he turned his attention to making some tea.

Sherlock was out. John read the newspapers for a while then got out his laptop to update his blog. He was absorbed in the blog entry when Sherlock finally came bounding up the stairs, taking them two at a time. The door was flung open and he strode in, his hand holding the front of his shirt as far away from his chest as possible.

John took one look at the nasty, orange stain spreading on the front of Sherlock's white shirt and grimaced.

"A little accident at Bart's," Sherlock announced, already stripping off his coat and suit jacket. "I need to use the machine, quickly, before it starts to eat away at the fabric."

"Can't you just rinse it out first?" John asked.

Sherlock threw him a glance that said he was not even going to answer John's question and proceeded to the bathroom.

"I've already got a load in the washer," John called after him as he turned his attention back to his laptop.

He gave it no further thought until Sherlock emerged from the bathroom, wearing a fresh shirt. He headed for the washing machine with his soiled, bunched shirt just as John heard the _ping!_ that signaled the end of the washing cycle.

"Sorry John, I'll need to take out your clothes now. Let's get them to dry later," he heard Sherlock say.

"Okay," said John distractedly.

Then it hit him.

Sherlock was going to take out his laundry. His laundry with that damned red thing thrown in--!

"Sherlock!" John cried, leaping up from his chair and striding briskly to the washing machine. "Wait, let me—"

He was just in time to see Sherlock take the red pants slowly out of the machine. Holding the underwear at the very tips of the index and middle fingers of one hand, there was the smallest pause before Sherlock turned ever so slowly to pin John with an incredulous, slyly amused look from the corner of his eye.

John could feel himself flushing, could feel his face going the same color as those pants. He realized his voice had died in his throat. He cleared it emphatically and said in a voice as normal as he could make it, "It's from that bargain sale at Tesco."

He didn't even know why he had to explain anything to Sherlock. It was none of his business in the first place. He stepped up to his flatmate and snatched the pants from where they dangled between Sherlock’s long fingers. He tossed them into the pile of wet laundry already in the basket and gave Sherlock a look with raised eyebrows: _Problem?_

Sherlock stared back, mouth not quite smiling although his pale eyes were undoubtedly amused. John could feel a prickle of awareness run down his spine and was worried.

This had been happening a lot between them lately. God help him, John did not know when it actually began, but sometime during the past month or so something just seemed to have turned itself on between himself and Sherlock.

It was all there in the looks that lingered an uncomfortable second more than they should, in the silences that curdled awkwardly instead of flowing smoothly, innocently on. It was all there in the moments when John would turn suddenly to Sherlock only to see his gaze sliding away from him. These days he found it difficult to look into those light, penetrating eyes, for fear of what he might see in them, or worse, what they might see in his own gaze. He did not know how he ought to feel about all this; he only knew that he would not be able to conceal anything from Sherlock.

And now this.

John willed himself to hold Sherlock's gaze now, thinking perhaps it was time to meet this thing head on. He didn't start this, so he wasn't going to back down first from whatever it was that was taking shape between them.

 _Come on, Sherlock,_ thought John, his entire body tense. _Laugh. Jibe. Sneer. Dismiss this entire incident as boring and_ _ridiculous. Do the things that you usually do to annoy me. Just don't stand there and stare_ _at me like that and_ confuse _me…_

Damn the man, it was clear he had also decided he wasn't backing down from whatever nameless challenge John had just put forth, and the gazing continued until John thought he was going to have a headache from the way Sherlock's eyes were boring into him. Besides, he was rapidly losing his nerve. It was all too much, too soon.

"Right," said John crisply, finally breaking off the Gaze as he turned to pick up his laundry. "You'd better get to your washing then."

He could still feel Sherlock's gaze burning into his back as he retreated hurriedly with the laundry basket.

Just as he would feel that gaze in the next month, travelling down his frame in the most inopportune times, lingering on his backside and, on one memorable occasion, finding it hovering over the small of his back, at the slit of bare skin between his shirt and his jeans as he squatted to collect something from a crime scene.

John couldn't bring himself to ask what it was that Sherlock was seeking, although he had his ideas and they were all so appallingly delicious.

~~~~~@~~~~~

Their control finally snapped one Saturday night after a particularly difficult case was resolved.

One moment they were entering the sitting room, exhausted and laughing, adrenaline coursing through their veins after their latest escapade, and the next moment John was in Sherlock's arms and their mouths were fused. An entire month of such constant, silent craving, culminating in this one, intensely sweet moment when hesitation did not even enter the picture and the only thing that mattered was the drag of their open mouths against each other, their breathing the only sound to penetrate John's ears: sharp, panting breaths— astonished, hungry, the voiceless intonation of desire itself.

At this rate, they were not even going to make it to a bedroom.

Almost before John was aware of it, Sherlock had pinned him down on the carpeted floor and was stripping away his shirt with efficient ease. He let out a shuddering sigh as he felt Sherlock’s mouth trail after the path his fingers had taken only seconds before.

God, but he wanted this, John realized with a start as he stared at the ceiling. For a long, long time now.

A clink of metal as John's belt buckle was undone, followed by the sound of his trouser zippers being pulled down eagerly.

And then.

Silence.

John blinked and wondered what was going on. Tentatively, he raised his head to look at Sherlock, only to find him looking down at what his zipper had unveiled, his face so still. He looked almost disappointed.

"What?" breathed John, the silence finally getting to him.

Sherlock quickly looked up. "Hmm? Nothing," he said.

"Liar," said John softly. "What is it?"

"Nothing." Sherlock shook his head emphatically. "Really, John, it's not importa—"

John rose on his elbows and leveled Sherlock with a look that brooked no opposition. "What is it? Tell me. I want to know."

Sherlock's lips thinned for a moment, then he hung his head. "Your pants…" he began softly.

"Yes? What about them?" John stared down at the pants he had on. The dark blue ones. Aghast, he wondered whether there was anything on them that might have turned Sherlock off. They were fresh when John had donned them on this morning, of that he was certain.

He watched as Sherlock swallowed, a look of near-pain on his face as he muttered, "I was hoping…"

John raised his eyebrows at him. _Go on…?_

"The red ones," said Sherlock in a rush. "I wanted to see you in the red ones."

There was something so inherently ridiculous about the entire thing that John actually laughed aloud. He managed to rein himself in after a few seconds although a giggle could still be heard somewhere in his voice as he said, "Is that so?"

He had never seen Sherlock look so embarrassed. It was priceless.

John let it drag on for a minute more before he finally took pity on him. "I don't see why that couldn't be arranged," he said as he sat up.

"Will you wear them for me?" asked Sherlock eagerly, also sitting up, his voice gone deep and guttural.

John nodded.

"Get them," said Sherlock, his voice hardening with assurance into a command. "Wear them inside your trousers."

John felt the first prickle of uncertainty as he went up to his bedroom.

What was he getting himself into? Was he really ready for this? Were they ready? All of a sudden he wasn't sure whether this was such a good idea after all. All the same, he got the red pants out of his drawer and put them on, zipping his trousers over them before he made his way back down to the sitting room.

Sherlock was sitting on the sofa when he re-entered the room. He had shed his coat, scarf and suit jacket and he was leaning slightly forward in eager anticipation, hands steepled in front of him, elbows on his knees, legs apart, feet planted firmly on the ground.

John took one look at his avid, hungry gaze and felt everything melt away in his mind.

"I want you to strip in front of me, John," said Sherlock, his voice pitched dark and low and intimate. "Slowly. Until you've nothing on except those pants."

John swallowed, but did as he was told.

"Slowly!" ordered Sherlock as John peeled away his shirt.

He swallowed hard as he willed himself to go slow, ridding himself of his shoes, his trousers and socks. Ever so slowly. Already, he was hard, and he could feel himself hardening further as he felt the full brunt of Sherlock's rapt gaze on him.

Finished, he looked at Sherlock for the first time.

"Well done," purred Sherlock in approval, sending John's heart racing. "Come here, John."

Slowly, he made his way over to Sherlock, stopping just in front of him, between his spread legs.

Sherlock reached out and gathered him in closer, his hands reaching out to splay possessively across John's chest, trailing down to his hips, fingers caressing his skin and the rough, cotton texture of those red pants before moving to cup his buttocks. John exhaled a startled sigh as Sherlock leaned in to nuzzle the few centimeters of flesh right below John's navel, his warm breath a shock of sensation on that patch of sensitive skin.

John's breath turned into a moan as he felt Sherlock's tongue delicately licking the soft, sparse trail of downy hair just visible on top of the white garter of the pants, just on that junction before the hair changed texture and turned coarser.

"Oh, John," said Sherlock, a mere suggestion of a groan in his voice sending John's heart into overdrive. "John. You sensed it, didn't you? Sensed how much I've wanted to do this, how I've longed for you, all these months. Surely you've seen me wondering how you would look in nothing except these pants. How it would feel for me to slide them off you. I've held back for as long as I could, and I can't any longer. You want this, don't you? Want this as much as I do. Say yes, John. Do it."

John licked his dry lips as he whispered in a voice he could hardly recognize as his own, “Yes.”

 _For you--_ _yes_ _, always,_ he thought.

He splayed the fingers of one hand on the back of Sherlock's head, urging him closer. He gasped as he felt Sherlock's warm, moist mouth opening against him, felt the tantalizing graze of teeth against his clothed erection.

"Hello, John," Sherlock purred before his tongue snuck out to lick at John through the fabric of those pants.

The sound that erupted from John's throat could hardly qualify as human. He crushed Sherlock to him, fingers biting into the back of his head as he urged him against his moist, turgid flesh, still sheathed in red cotton.

Sherlock merely smiled as he tilted his head to bring his nose against John, inhaling deeply, taking in his scent for the first time. Cat-like, he rubbed his face gently against John's clothed hardness and delighted in his sharp intake of breath.

Those long, clever fingers biting into John's arse now moved to twist John's pants down his hips, cinching the material cruelly against his flesh as Sherlock lapped at him teasingly through it one last time before dragging the pants from John's erection and leaving them stretched out and suspended around his spread thighs, like an obscene little bridge the color of lust.

"Delicious John," Sherlock murmured, voice deepening into a growl as John was revealed to him at last. "I think I'll take you now."

"Yes," rasped John, all but sobbing as he felt his lover's heart-shaped mouth on his cock at last. "Oh God, _yes."_

~~~~~@~~~~~

There was more. Oh, so much more, with Sherlock finally getting to kiss John properly on the mouth after they were through.

"I didn't know you have a thing for pants," said John as they lay panting and spent on the carpet in the middle of the sitting room. He could feel the pants in question still hooked over one ankle, soggy and ruined.

"Not the pants _per se_ ," replied Sherlock. "The color. Your possession of such an item told me that perhaps you're finally ready to take a chance with things. With us."

John chewed pensively on his bottom lip for a moment, then said, "Well, the red pants wasn't my choice at all. I just got them from a bargain sale. Thought you should know. What's so funny?"

Sherlock shrugged, not bothering to ease the wide grin from his face. "A happy coincidence, no doubt, but wouldn't you say finding a catalyst to our relationship in the form of a bargain sale is quite a godsend?"

~~~~~@~~~~~

The next day, John was at Tesco as soon as the store opened.

He had to shop. It was imperative that he did so immediately. Last night had been mind-blowing, fantastic, incredible beyond words; but his red pants had not survived the encounter.

The bargain sale was over.

Damn!

He scanned the underwear shelves carefully, looking at the brands and the sizes. The colors, most of all.

There was no red.

_Bloody unbelievable!_

How was it _possible_ that there was no red when they had neon selections?!

He considered dropping his pride and asking. He could just ask and they could think whatever they damned like.

He caught a passing store attendant, not caring that it was a woman this time around. But as soon as she turned to him, John felt his tongue go bashfully still inside his mouth.

"Erm…"

But how did one go about asking such a question at all?

Honesty was always the best policy.

He swallowed and tried again: "When is the next bargain sale coming on? Please don't say it's never coming back on because I've got to have some underpants of a particular color and it's not really for me. Well, it is, in a way, but it's really for the sake of my...for someone special."

John paused as the enormity of his words gradually sank in on him. That was what Sherlock was to him now, wasn't it? Someone special?

But then, Sherlock had always been someone special to John. What was more difficult for John to grasp was that he was now someone special, too, to Sherlock. Like a pair of red pants out of a huge drawer filled with whites, blacks, blues, greys and browns-- out of all the people out there, from the very start, Sherlock had picked him.

The saleswoman smiled as she gave him a conspiratorial wink. "Let me guess. Those pants you need wouldn't happen to be red, would they?"

John smiled back, relieved.

That wasn't so hard after all. John would very quickly learn that one could get away with a lot of things in the name of love.

~~~~~@~~~~~

 **Author's Notes** : Some of the shopping details for John and his dad are lifted from family experience. My poor mom, having to shop for dad and my bro when he was a kid. I also did a little research, and this [link](http://uk.askmen.com/fashion/fashiontip/_500/585_mens-underwear-dos-and-donts.html) is quite helpful, in case anyone is interested in shopping for pants

 


End file.
